


Educe

by yeaka



Category: White Collar
Genre: Dry Humping, F/M, Ficlet, M/M, Multi, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 03:48:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7919356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Burkes have a proposition for Neal, but Peter finds actions easier, and Neal has exclusive tastes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Educe

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for “Humping on the couch” prompt on [my bingo card](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/149673766130/fic-bingo). **Warning** , I’ve only seen up to S2.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own White Collar or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s a normal night, or as normal as it can be with Neal over for dinner, and it stays that way throughout the entire meal, exquisitely cooked by Peter’s perfect wife. He spent half of that time really _looking_ at her, wondering why in the hell he wants to risk this, but then she’d return his gaze with that determined sparkle in her eye that said _do it_. But he couldn’t, can’t.

And now they’ve migrated to the couch, Peter conspicuously close to Neal and Elizabeth strangely perched alone on the second one. Facing them, she’s stretched her way out, taking up all the cushions, making it very clear that neither will be coming over there. Peter was elected to bring it up. Peter said it’d be easier if she did it. But she said Neal’s _his_ prisoner, and maybe Peter does know that between him and his wife, maybe between him and the whole city, Neal’s mostly _his_.

But he still keeps talking shop and laughing over failed criminals and playing along to scowl when Neal boasts of abstract crimes, always obscure with the details. He used to be annoyed when Neal bragged. With a couple drinks already in his stomach and half-full glass in his hand, it’s easier to see the charm everyone else does. Neal _can_ charm Peter, but it’s usually in private, in more open, honest moments when it’s just the two of them and real words. Peter can feel Elizabeth’s eyes boring a hole into the side of his skull. He’s stuck facing Neal, can’t look away, especially when Neal rakes a large hand back through his dark hair and spills a few stray strands into his too-bright eyes. In his expensive suit, stripped down to a crisp white shirt and a tight waistcoat, he looks like a model straight out of the magazines Peter would never admit to looking twice at. He always looked twice at Neal. It was easy to pursue him all those years. Easy to _want him so badly._ He doesn’t have Elizabeth’s supple frame or soft curves, but he has taut angles and a rugged, animal attraction Peter’s tired of running from. It’s the worst when Neal looks at Peter and _grins_ , knowing every bit how handsome he is. Peter wants to knock the glass right out of his hand.

But then Neal returns his gaze to Elizabeth and says something else, and Peter looks to. Elizabeth gives a clipped answer and a curt smile. Peter sees the tried patience in it.

Then she clears her throat and sets her glass on the coffee table. Neal respectfully pauses the conversation for her to announce, “Excuse me for a bit, would you? I have a client that can only take fundraiser calls late.”

Neal says, “Sure,” like it’s no problem, and Peter starts to protest, lifting a hand, but she’s already leaving. He knows exactly what she’s doing, but leaving them alone won’t make it any easier.

Peter turns back to Neal anyway. He knows he should just get it out already, but Neal starts in on more work: “You really think you should have Jones on those records? Mozzie could have them done by now.” The declaration comes with a subtle my-man-is-better-than-yours smirk. The cut of Neal’s jaw, especially sprinkled in just the faintest bit of stubble, is too much. He looks too good, sounds too good. He even _smells_ good. The other two senses are still a mystery, at least to the extent Peter wants.

Peter takes a page from Elizabeth and clears his throat, only to find he has no words to say after it. He tells himself he caught Neal twice and he can do it a third time, even if this is in a very different sense, but he still has no clue where to start. Neal quirks one perfect brow. His beauty is infuriating. And distracting. And the more Peter stares at it, the more he thinks, _to hell with it_ ; they’ve never been any good at words together anyway. 

He leans forward just enough to make it obvious, stops, and has a fleeting mental image of his wife. He could still pull back and pretend it’s the wine. 

But Neal tilts his face and shuffles nearer, his shoulder hitting Peter’s, their knees banging together. Neal doesn’t connect their lips, but he does slip the glass out of Peter’s hand to set on the table. Peter’s the one that really _does it_. He takes one more whiff of Neal’s hopefully-not-stolen cologne and smashes their mouths together with no grace or tact.

It doesn’t matter, because Neal presses back, and then it’s really _happening_ ; he shoves his tongue at Neal’s lips, feels them open right away, and _he’s got his tongue in Neal Caffrey’s mouth._ He’s fantasized about this one too many times, but he didn’t tell Elizabeth the extent of that. Just that he’d thought of it. It wasn’t a bad idea. He’s always careful with her, tries to love her right. But Neal’s an irritating felon that’s easy to shove against and _fight_ with his tongue. He maps Neal out in a fervent mess and shoves his hand into Neal’s hair, fisting immediately. It’s just as soft as he knew it’d be, but then he tugs at it and holds Neal in as hard as he kisses. He can feel both of Neal’s hands sliding up into his hair, and his other goes to Neal’s waist—he runs up and down the lean line of Neal’s side, traces around to his back, and palms the arch of his spine. Neal moans into Peter’s mouth and bucks his hips forward. They’re both turning, trying to angle better, knees poking into one another to make it work and get as much contact as possible. Peter reaches lower to squeeze a fistful of Neal’s ass and lets out a filthy groan. It’s taut, tight, and the more Peter kneads it, the more the usual thoughts come up—handcuffing Neal to the bed and _fucking him hard_. Peter just never thought it’d be so _easy_. 

He thought Neal was into skinny, model-esque women. Maybe he should’ve known Neal would go for anything. Or maybe he should’ve known their chemistry went beyond the cat-and-mouse chase. Neal starts raking his hands down Peter’s chest, exploring, like he’s thought of this just as much. He couldn’t possibly have. Peter rolls his body into Neal’s and ruts up, humping Neal so hard that they topple over, Neal’s back hitting the couch, Peter on top of him. Peter doesn’t stop, just starts grinding Neal as mercilessly into the cushions as he can. The springs make an angry protest, but Neal hooks one knee against Peter’s waist and humps him right back. Peter’s hard as a rock and can feel that Neal’s no better. It doesn’t seem possible he could make Neal that hard. But Neal bucks up into him and grabs at his clothes and kisses him with a ferocity that couldn’t be a con. Peter just wants to _eat Neal alive._

Peter’s fairly certain he’s going to come in his pants like a teenager when Elizabeth’s voice cuts through, “I take it he’s into it, then?”

Peter breaks the kiss to whip his head around and meet his wife’s eyes. She’s back on her own couch, her posture now alert, her eyes alight. Neal bites at Peter’s jaw and Peter wrenches away, annoyed already, though Neal just grins like teasing Peter in bed is the next logical step to their dynamic. 

Before Peter can admit he hasn’t quite managed to broach the full subject yet, Neal rolls his head to the side and asks, “Into what?” The way his body stays wrapped around Peter’s make it clear he’s definitely into this part.

But that was just a part. Elizabeth gives Peter an incredulous look, and he has to will himself not to blush. He’s too old to feel this foolish. He deliberately doesn’t look at Neal’s face and mutters, “With a threesome.”

Neal looks back to Elizabeth, and, to Peter’s new surprise, hesitates. To her, he asks, “Can I just have Peter for now?”

Peter gives Neal a what’s-wrong-with-you look, but Elizabeth, perfect, still-surprising-after-all-these-years Elizabeth, shrugs. “Sure, if I can watch.”

The grin’s back on Neal’s face in a heartbeat. “Deal.”

There’s no chance for Peter to say how weird this is. Neal’s on him again, their mouths closing together, the faint taste of the wine still on Neal’s tongue, and one buck of Neal’s hips and Peter forgets what he’s worried about. He’ll buy Elizabeth flowers later. Tell her how amazing she is. For now, he sets right back into one more intoxicating round of domination and partnership with Neal Caffrey.


End file.
